


A Box of Cup Noodles and A Teabag

by otherscott



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Consensual Violence, Drabble, Drugged Sex, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:59:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherscott/pseuds/otherscott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life and times of professional tosser Jim Moriarty and his adopted poodle Sebastian Moran. A collection of drabbles and mini-fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Quick Replies

**Author's Note:**

> My best mate and I challenge each other to three-minute Jim/Seb fics. These are kind of the products of that. I'm probably going to clump four-five drabbles together in one chapter, and then mini-fics and various other Jim/Seb things will have their own chapters.
> 
> Enjoy my cornucopia of love.

It's an awkward kind of writhing mess that happens every so often - usually on Tuesday nights, Jim has noted, when the business is the most slow - and it's uncomfortable and terrible slow agonizing squirming bloody teeth clashing against teeth is never a very nice feeling but they always end up doing it, and there's always that moment where Jim growls "I don't want to have sex tonight, not in this suit, not in this mind of mine" and Sebastian just laughs and goes "How would we even know we were having sex if everything we do together equates the feeling of having a dick up your ass?"

♦

"So I know that sometimes Sherlock explodes with how much information he retains; all those ideas running around in his head. why the hell don't you ever blow up?" Jim's finger just barely strokes the side of the newspaper as he hears these words, and he smiles, a smile that Sebastian cannot see through the newspaper but he can feel it, not just in Jim's voice but in the air, and he goes, "Darling, if you haven't noticed the little fireworks going off all year round, you're not looking hard enough," and suddenly the scars on Sebastian's chest are red hot and the cigarette scars are burning, and he swears he hears some sort of fizzing but there's nothing, just words and the swipe of a newspaper page.

♦

Sitting on a park bench watching construction workers blow shit up all day was, in essence, making love to Jim Moriarty. The little man would stumble to his plaything's flat for a cold drink and a small white pill to stop the shaking, and Sebastian would open the door, give him a once-over, and ask very bluntly, "You're on ecstasy?" to which Jim would reply, "Everything feels so warm," words echoed with a delirious laugh.

♦

Sometimes they would sit in the cab together, Jim with his hair slicked back and his eyes covered with dark RayBans, a suit which was a bit too wide for his scrawny frame, and Sebastian in his perfectly nice suit, felt normal, albeit a little reflective, but normal, and he would say, with a tint of amusement, "You look ridiculous," to which Jim would just say slowly, "Finally the flesh reflects the madness within."


	2. Cup Noodles and a Teabag

The password for the lock was "bread" today, and Jim thinks it's cute, the way Sebastian sets the lock as whatever is missing from his kitchen that day. And it makes it easy, just one look in the pantry and Jim has a wide array of murder machines. (Although, he hypothesizes that he _could_ probably kill a man with a box of Cup Noodles or a tea bag.) He turns the lock, smiles when it clicks, pulls the doors open and takes it all in. He was never a gun man. He has a small one, back in the apartment, a hand rifle that he never uses in "correct form" as Sebastian always tells him, but he just doesn't like the feel of it, the way it kicks back when you shoot it off, the way you feel the vibrations running up your arm, the way the only sparks are the split second the bullet escapes its confinement; the effect is silly too, there are no fireworks, no explosions, no fire in general, just a body hitting the deck, silently, as if suddenly fallen asleep. _Booooring._

He takes one of the bigger ones out, can't really remember what it's called, and looks it over, examining the scratches on the shaft, the way the grip is slightly discolored, a bit tanner than the surrounding brown; Jim can tell it's from sweat. He points the tip at the floor and looks though the sight, pursing his lips and moving the gun around, surveying Sebastian's flat through an eagle eye. He hears the front door open, and turns quickly, pointing his gun at the door.

Sebastian groans, shifting his grocery bag under his arm - probably got some bread in there don't you Sebby boy - and walks over; Jim lowers the gun and sticks his tongue out. "Teach me how to shoot it." "You're not even holding it right." Sebastian puts his bag on the floor and yanks the gun out of Jim's hands, giving it quick once-over (checking it for signs of any makeshift explosives Jim might've attached), sighs, asks, "How long have you been in my flat alone?" "Darling, do I ever leave?"

The marksman rolls his eyes, looks down at the hyena, pursing his lips as if he's trying not to smile. Jim notices that look on Seb's face often. "If you can't figure out how to use a gun by yourself, you're a sod. Now stop being a twat and go put your pants on."


	3. A Strange Type of Muse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reichenbach spoilers, graphic sex.

"Darling, you suck on those cigarettes more than you suck on me." Sebastian looked up from his gun at this remark, the feel of the cigarette on his lips all too apparent now. Jim shrugged, his shoulders low, eyebrows curious and mouth pursed, searching his face for a reply. Sebastian turned back to his gun. "Fuck you."

♦

It was funny, kind of, if he ever laughed he might've laughed, but whatever, it was funny how he was a gunsman, but just that one fucking sound had sent a chill up his spine, a stop in his heart, the all-too-familiar sound of a gunshot. It was the typical bloodshed, too, Seb was used to that, even used to seeing Jim's blood, splattered on the ground like that. But the sound. He could hardly hear it from so far away, but he felt it in his bones, that one, decisive gunshot, and he knew it was more deadly than any shot he had ever fired, and how funny, how amusing, that the man who made fun of him for all of his firearms, the man who never did or wanted to learn how to use a gun, used one in his grand finale, one that he had taken out of Seb's closet, one that Seb probably taught him how to use at one point or another. He always knew he couldn't trust Jim with a gun. Now he knew why.

♦

"And this-" _jesus christ is that a needle holy fuck that's not even a vein or oh that's a sewing needle that doesn't go in there damn_ Seb throws his head back when he feels the sharp and the cool at the same time and _fuck_ those fingernails tearing at his neck and that _goddamn fucking cock_ "-is why-" Seb lets out a yelp when the needle is removed and replaced with fingers _nails_ clawing at the puncture tearing ripping _shitfuckshitson_ and so he tries to push Jim off of his throat so he can yell but Jim pushes back, hissing in his ear like the serpent he is "-you don't-" and Seb growls when Jim reaches down to push in farther and grabs his balls and _god save the queen stop it with your nails_ and before he can bark Jim's slugging him, leaning down so he can suck the blood off of his teeth and bite his lip "-call me-" and Jim pulls away and elbows his jaw in the other direction, Seb looks up and sees that goddamn fire in his eyes the kind he only sees at _this moment right now_ and he tries to move tries to sit up but Jim grabs him and throws him back against the headboard and there's this _thunk_ and Seb sees stars but he's not coming not yet and Jim grabs that needle and readies it again and breathes "-Jimmy."

♦

Whenever the piece would begin to swirl, Jim would pull Sebastian out of whatever he was doing, silently, toothily, and take both of the man's hands in his, picking up on their waltz from wherever they last left off and Sebastian would, stone-faced, keep in time with the beat and the little man's twirls, with all the air of a man who had been forced into learning these movements in childhood, stiff, unwanting, and Jim would laugh, breathe, loll his head back and forth, in time, inside, absorbed, and it would come to a slow, Jim would brush himself off, smile one last time, push his partner back onto the couch, and follow in a dance entirely different but similar in meaning.


	4. That Sounded Painful

It had gotten to the point where it was uproariously funny, but they weren't laughing yet, oh no, they were just getting started, because they both knew from the start when Sebastian looked up at Jim with those eyes and toppled that first wineglass that it was going to get rather _rambunctious_ in there. It's not like the place had ever been one of Jim's favorite restaurants, which was true, but even if it was, he could just dispense of it, cause a scene, burn it down, skip off laughing so hard they choke and make it home in time to see their story on the news. There would be no fire, tonight, however - nothing was to be burned but maybe a few more cigarettes.

Only a few people had turned to look when Sebastian slammed his fist down onto the table, and they all looked away as Jim carefully, slowly, put his napkin in his lap, looked up at Sebastian with those puppy eyes, whispered something unintelligible but apparently apologetic, and those people were content, figured, just a small lover's quarrel, it will end- but the smash of the second wineglass on the table made them jump, the splash of deep red liquid on the tablecloth and on Jim's _new suit_ and Jim stood up and smacked him so hard Sebastian didn't know whether he was acting or not all he knew was that he was going to _get it_ tonight and the prospect pulled at his lips. Sebastian had stood up to match him, grabbed the smaller man's wrist, shaken him, yelled something _obscene_ , tried not to look over when out of the corner of his eye he noticed parents covering their children's ears. Jim covered a laugh when a waiter came by and Sebastian barreled past him, pulling Jim's wrist and nearly pushing him down the stairs - Jim stopped, turned around on the stairs, got a hold of himself, stared up at the tiger with a toothy growl, reached one hand up to calm his mane, and lunged, scratched at Sebastian's face, got him good in the jaw, fell back when Sebastian slammed him up against the small hallway of the staircase and let out a tinny laugh when he tumbled down the stairs.

They made faces at each other when they knew people weren't looking, but never asking if the other was okay, more just little "did that just happen?"s and "that sounded painful"s, and Sebastian leaped down to the bottom of the stairs, grabbed Jim's wrist again, pushed a waitress out of the way when she came to check on the welfare of the man just tossed down the stairs. She tried to grab Jim's free hand, wrench him away from his captor, but he simply pushed her away, spitting in her direction, using his free hand to grab a wineglass - directly off of some poor sap's table - and smash it over the blond's head, elbowing him in the back of the neck before he could turn around, and Sebastian did so, grabbed Jim with both hands and pushed him down onto the floor, ramming him against a table, toppling it completely, and Jim just fixed his hair again, let out a shout, stumbled to his feet and grabbed Sebastian's wrist - " _we need to take this **outside**_ " - and their shouting match continued, ended with Jim pushing the man out the door, smiling as the staff closed the door as quickly as the two men left, shouted something about how a man like him needed a man bigger than Sebastian, looked back over his shoulder at the door of the restaurant, took Sebastian's hand in his - "les' bounce!" - and they ended up bounding down the street, Jim laughing like a maniac, Sebastian struggling in his back pocket for his cigarette lighter.


	5. Revival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cocaine usage and graphic sex.

Sebastian Moran was convinced that every coin Jim Moriarty touched displayed the side Jim Moriarty wanted it to display, if Jim had called tails, both sides would be tails, if heads, Jim would still win. Jim Moriarty would not lose. Sebastian watched him fuss with spare change in the morning, Jim still in his morning stupor, hunched over the daily paper and his tanned coffee, rolling coins back and forth in his palm. Sebastian reached out, snatched a coin, threw it in the air, stomped his foot down on the coin before either saw the outcome. Jim turned the page of the newspaper, mumbled through a mouth full of cereal mush, "tails", Sebastian lifted his foot, it was tails, sighed, decided that Jim Moriarty probably produced every goddamn coin in the United Kingdom, and had a copyright on luckiness throughout the entire world.

♦

Jim doesn't eat anything for three days after he is released from the cell. He sits in front of the television, files his ragged nails, and bites at his blood-stained fingertips, staring straight ahead, but talkative as usual. Sebastian sits next to him, feeds him simple sugars because he knows not to rush someone who was starved, he's an army man, smart, and Jim likes sugar, will eat sugar. On the fifth day, Sebastian hears from the living room, "Be a dear and bring me my contact book", Sebastian does this, watches Jim shed his robe, watches Jim's face scrunch, watches Jim decide to shed his shirt as well, watches Jim lick his lips and say simply, "I've got work to do", Sebastian nods and leaves him to his job.

♦

Seb can't stop looking over at the goddamn door so Jim grabs the man's hips and swallows against him; Seb groans when he feels his dick hit the back of Jim's throat, wonders _how the hell he got so good at that_ , pushes Jim off, wipes his nose on his sleeve and climbs further back on the bed, feet scuttling under him so he can sit up, scratches his runny nose, "Shit, shit, not right now, not-" but Jim is on him again, biting at his neck and tearing his jacket off, quickly makes the clothed upper half match the stripped bottom, climbs on top of his abdomen and stares down at him. Seb scratches at his throat, his throat is so goddamn itchy, resists when Jim takes his hands in his own and directs them to his zipper, "-fuck you Jim no fuck you no not now-" nearly whimpers when Jim grabs his wrists so hard he swears they tore and obeys, doesn't get the time to enjoy the man's small little pale scarred beautiful body because Jim is on him again. Seb glances over at the door, knows that the tenants in the motel room next door can hear this, practically comes at the thought, suddenly those hands are all over him and fuck it feels good better than usual so _intense_ and he starts coughing and can't stop ugh his throat is so itchy so Jim grabs him by it, wraps his hands around it, crushes, "-stop fucking coughing or I'll make you stop coughing-" and Seb pushes him away, wide-eyed, grabbing his shirt, Jim tackles him back down, smashes his lips against the other's, lines of spit connecting them as he pulls away, "-I'm going to fuck you until my cum is shooting out your nose and I don't care if you're _crying_ by the end of it-" and Seb takes one last breath, coughs, wants to wipe his nose but can't wipe his nose damnit damnit damnit he feels like he's going to _drown_ and he does and when he resurfaces he's gasping for air, sitting up in the bed, four hours have passed and he looks down, Jim is lying there, still as the dead but still sweaty and warm, and Seb wants a drink and wants to wipe his nose so he stumbles out of bed, falls over, gets back up, coughs, sneezes, gives up, falls back into bed, rolls Jim onto his back and scowls when the man opens his eyes, mutters, "round two."


	6. Get Back to Me

Sebastian flicks the light on when he walks in the door, it's three in the morning and his eyes are too sleepy to adjust in the dark, and he lets out a soft groan into his apartment, dropping his suitcase by the door and throwing his jacket off. Motherfucking job took five hours longer than expected. He rubs at his eyes, maybe he should get something to drink, nahh, too tired, so he starts toward his bedroom door, steps over the threshold into the living room, nearly shits himself when he sees Jim sitting in his spot on the couch, staring off into space. Spit collects in his throat and he coughs, staggering over to the man. "Scared the fuck out of me, bastard." Seb swats the top of his head lightly, frowns when Jim is unresponsive, picks a newspaper up from the coffee table and hits him again. Jim whines this time, lifting both arms to shoo away the newspaper, and drops his head back against the arm of the couch, closing his eyes.

"Sometimes the inspiration comes and goes," Jim drawls out, and Seb leans down, grabs him by the lapel of his jacket, smells his neck.

"You're high."

"I know."

Seb falls down on the couch next to him, throwing an arm over the backboard. "Where's the joint?"

Jim starts to push himself up, gets only to where his elbows are straight and looks around, grumbling something and leaning back down. "I dunno." Seb mutters an expletive under his breath, begins to scour around for the offending roll of paper, finds it under the couch. "Could've started a goddamn fire," he takes his boss's altered state as a chance to hit him again, and sits back down, pulling his lighter out of his back pocket and carrying out all the necessary motions. Jim sits there, nodding off, twitches his nose when he hears Sebastian spitting smoke. He opens his eyes to see Sebastian looking in his direction. "How much do you have left?"

Jim lifts a hand to run through his hair, feels the tips of the strands, wants a haircut, quickly can't remember where the urge to get a haircut came from. "I can't remember."

Seb snorts and crosses his arms, looking around. "If you're trying to come up with new ideas, then why the hell do you even smoke if you're just not gonna remember anything?"

"...I dunno." A little smile dances across Jim's face, and he takes a deep breath the same time Sebastian pulls in another hit. "I had something. I had something earlier. But I can't remember. And I took a phone call thirty minutes ago, I'm fine." He sits up, smoothing his hair back and staring straight at Sebastian, straight through him, for he is uninterested, and Sebastian shakes his head, watches the smoke in the air. "Okay."

"Was the paint in this room always that shade of green?" Sebastian blinks at this, looks around at the walls, looks back at his boss, marvels in the darkness of his reddened eyes. "Yeah."

"Looks bad."

"I don't have to care about what you think about my fucking walls."

"I'll call in a painter sometime this week." Jim closes his eyes and lies back down, curling up next to a pillow. "Remind me."

"Remind you what?"

Jim looks up and Sebastian is looking at him again, they share a moment of confusion in each other's eyes, Jim bursts out laughing, and Seb lets out a little chuckle.


	7. Simple Songs

"He has got a fantastic arse," Jim grinned, craning his neck around Seb to look after a man walking off with his dog. Seb snorted, learned back aginst the park bench when he noticed Jim trying to look around him, and absentmindedly threw some breadcrumbs down to the pigeons. "You're a creep." Jim shrugged at this, watched the flocking birds. "It's nicely shaped and I am allowed to admire it. You do it with women." He leaned back, watched a young woman in a tank top jog by, hit Seb's arm lightly. "Would you fuck her?"

Seb surveyed the woman, glanced down at her backside, quirked an eyebrow. "Eh, maybe." Jim laughs, grinned as two of the pigeons keeled over. That was fast. How much did we put in the bread?" Sebastian stared at one of the corpses. "Not that much."

Jim hummed a bit to himself, poked a corpse with his foot. "Weak little buggers." He smiled up at Seb, pleased. "Shall we get something to drink?"

♦

When Sebastian moved up in his space, Jim stared up at him, face blank, searching, surveying those drooping eyebrows, the cute little way his eyes narrowed to slits, said shortly, "Call me Daddy," and Sebastian hesitated, considered, he lived for those orders, after all, muttered, "Yes, sir," Jim cocked his head to the side. Sebastian tried again. "...yes, Daddy." There was a tug at the side of Jim's lips, and he lifted a hand to stroke Sebastian's face, "I love how your eyes flicker when you say that word," his voice low, so smooth it came out as one sound, cut off when Jim set his lips on Sebastian, they kissed for a good ten seconds, and Sebastian punched him in the gut.

♦

Had they been younger, it would've been so charming if they had stolen things for each other, cuff links or jewelry or those powders that Jim liked to play with or the cleaning fluids for Sebastian's guns. But their childhood shenanigans had evolved into something deeper, darker, so when Jim fumbled with a necklace he had bought for Molly, and it shattered as it hit the ground, he looked up at met eyes with his sniper, showed his teeth in a sly smile, "wanna try something fun?" he trilled, Sebastian rolled his eyes, "you're a fucking child," "then go buy one, rich boy", and Sebastian scowled, pushed onto his feet and made way for the door.


	8. Dante's Inferno

"Sebastian, I'm going to take this test for you."

Sebastian looked up from his mindless busywork to stare at his boss-slouched in the big armchair with his computer on his lap, eyes dead as could be boring into the screen. Sebastian blinked, and at that Jim blinked as well, moving his eyes to meet his sniper's. They stared at each other for a moment, Jim's mouth hanging open just a little bit, and Sebastian said, "I'm doing your work."

"That's why I said I'm taking the test _for_ you." Jim said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He adjusted his position in the chair, and Sebastian chose not to press any further, but sat back against the couch, wanting a drink. He brought both hands to his face, rubbed at his eyes, and stopped when he heard Jim's voice. "Have you been attending religious worship lately?" Sebastian blinked at him again, Jim had a little smirk dancing on his lips, still staring at his computer screen. "What?"

"I don't think you have, but I don't know what you do all the time."

"No, I don't. What the hell are you doing?"

"It's called the Dante's Inferno Test." Jim licked his lips and clicked something on the keyboard, and continued, "Have you been known to dress provocatively to attract the attention of the opposite sex?" He snorted and clicked something again. "That'll be a no."

"What is that?" Sebastian stood up and wandered behind Jim, leaning down to peer at the screen...so it was one of those stupid questionnaire sites that gave you a fortune based on how you answered the questions. "You're a fucking twat, and you've got something on your collar."

Jim looked down at his shirt collar, lifted it in his hand, and inspected it. "That's the blood from yesterday. Needs dry cleaning, silly boy, thought you'd've known that by now." At that, Sebastian gave up, and turned towards the kitchen. Jim made no protest, only called to him once Sebastian had popped the cap off of a beer, "Have you stolen anything from an employer or friend?"

"Yes," and he heard Jim's little giggle at that, rolled his eyes, walked back out into the common room. "Do you look at pornography?" Sebastian gave Jim a look at that, actually, they shared a look, and Jim clicked on his keyboard. "Have you had sex or do you plan to have sex before marriage?" "You're being a fucking twat." "And you're a whore. _Yes_."

They sat there in silence for a few more moments, Sebastian had decided to just go _fuck you_ to the paperwork Jim had given him to do, and lit a cigarette, marveling at his reflection in the television screen, how he looked the epitome of a low-class bastard with a cancer stick in one hand and booze in the other. "Think about some of the sinful or wrong things you've done in the past." Jim's voice rang out, bored, and Sebastian sat there for a second, acting as if he was considering the prompt, and then raised his eyebrows. "Go on."

"Do you foresee yourself continuing to do these things?"

"No, I'm cutting it clean from now on." He took a long drag from his cigarette. There was no response, only a click on the keyboard.

"Alright, true or false."

"Lay it on me." Sebastian drawled.

"Through God, all things are possible." "False." "It's okay to cut a family member out of your life if they have done something that you strongly disagree with." "True." "It's okay to punch someone if they have it coming." "Truer words never spoken." Jim snorted at this one. "A pimp is a good thing to be." "I don't know, ask yourself that one." Sebastian took another drag on his cigarette, and Jim displayed a tiny smile. "Some people just deserve to die."

"True." Sebastian shrugged. Jim looked up at him, they shared a moment, and Jim clicked something. He then sat up and placed the laptop on the coffee table. "The Seventh Level of Hell," he read aloud, in one of his silly voices, Sebastian had nothing to do but scoff. "The violent, the assassins, the tyrants, and the war-mongers lament their pitiless mischiefs in the river, while centaurs armed with bows and arrows shoot those who try to escape their punishment."

"I suppose."

"Blasphemers and sodomites writhe in pain, their tongues more loosed to lamentation, and out of their eyes gushes forth their woe."

"You flatter me."

"Here, it says what you scored the highest in." Jim grinned giddily to himself, like a child having an inappropriate amount of fun. "Lust, gluttony, greed, wrath, treason. I could take you home to Mother."

"Why don't _you_ take it now?"

"I already took it." Jim stretched his limbs and yawned, as if preparing for a catnap. "Wasn't that delightful?"

"You really don't have anything else to do, do you?"

"All the projects I have back at home are...finished..." He stared at the computer screen, losing himself in something again, and his speech trailed off. "And you don't have anything to do back here, as hospitable as you are, my dear."

"Go the fuck to sleep." At that, Jim closed his eyes, only to open them a moment later. "Not while the night is young."

"You've been on the computer for the past hour. Go out and make some friends, then."

"Maybe I shall." Jim stood up and grabbed his coat that he had left on the arm of the couch, and then dropped it. "I have to change my shirt."

"Have fun."

Jim sauntered off to the flat's spare bedroom, where he usually kept his extra clothes, and Sebastian relaxed against the couch. He sat there for a few minutes, didn't exactly know how long it was, only noticed that time had gone by when he heard the front door close. He opened his eyes and looked around. Jim had gone. Sebastian lit another cigarette and pulled the laptop over to him, to take another quiz.


	9. A Day in the Life

... _and his face protrudes forward, and is forever slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously reptilian fashion._ Sebastian remembers the very first "meeting" Jim brought him to, the first where he was to stand in the corner and be the menacing tall man, the way Jim would get in people's faces, the way his tongue would flick out for no reason other than some sort of childish intimidation, the way those brandy-colored eyes looked dead, absolutely dead behind the mask; Sebastian had expected the other's blood to be cold when he felt it on his fingertips that night.

♦

"I need this for a job." Jim said to him, held up the USB in two slender fingers, placed it in Sebastian's rough ones. "It's very important. Guard it with your life." So when it had fallen out of his pocket and met the bottom of his shoe with a resounding _crack_ , Sebastian had paused, frozen in what had just happened, and sighed, grabbed his coat, decided he had to go find something even dirtier, and a new USB.

♦

"So dreary in London," Jim drawled as he looked out the window, propped his legs up on the arm of the couch. "We should take a vacation, shouldn't we, Sebby? We could go to Vegas again, but the last time we did that you lost a lot, didn't you? Made a mess in the bank account. Or we could go to France and eat ourselves sick again." He nodded to himself and turned to see Sebastian on the other side of the couch. "You'd like to go back to India, wouldn't you?" Sebastian wasn't paying attention, never really did when his boss rambled. Jim shrugged, figured that out, turned back to the raindrops on the window. "Get myself a fine tiger coat in India, wouldn't I."

♦

"Move." Sebastian prodded the new recruit's back with the butt of his rifle, pushed the man-boy, rather-forward, suppressed a smile when he stumbled, let it fall to a frown when the boy stopped once more. "I said move, goddamnit." Sebastian reached over for the rifle in the boy's hands, made sure he had a tight enough grip on it, glared daggers when the boy turned around to scowl at him. "I know how to hold the goddamn gun." Sebastian prodded him again. "Then go to your station and stop bumbling around like a sod." That seemed to be the boy's breaking point, what with their on-and-off fighting throughout the week Sebastian knew it was coming, just hoped it wouldn't during a _job_ for god's sake but all this kid seemed to be good at was stirring up trouble when it really wasn't needed - the taller man stopped the boy's fist with his forearm and deftly reached over to grab his neck, made a soft sound when he realized exactly how hard his grip was, stared down when the boy's body fell limp on the ground. Well, shit. Sebastian picked up his cell phone and pressed the speed dial, sighing into the dial tone. "Boss, we're down one."

♦

"Be a dear and clean the mess in the kitchen" was the first thing Sebastian heard when he woke up that morning, he looked up at the doorframe to see Jim standing there, ridding his hands of some stained plastic gloves. Jim gave him a little smile and turned on his heel out of the room, Sebastian listened to the footsteps click against the floor, turned his head to check the time on his bedside clock. He yawned and pushed himself out of bed, he really wanted to go make some breakfast but he figured that would have to wait until after he had cleaned up whatever Jim had left there for him. That was okay. Normalcy was not something he missed, he noted, as he picked the knife from last night up so he could bring it back into the kitchen.


End file.
